


From Sophie's Journals — A Letter Received

by Stormvoël (BushRat8)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Letters, Sophie's Journal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22329709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BushRat8/pseuds/Stormvo%C3%ABl
Summary: Although Sophie is too shy to actually send the letters she writes to Barbossa, he has no such qualms about writing to her now and again, often finding it easier to communicate his emotions with his quill rather than with spoken words.
Relationships: Hector Barbossa/Original Female Character(s), Hector Barbossa/Sophie Grantham, Hector Barbossa/The Innkeeper of Grantham House
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	From Sophie's Journals — A Letter Received

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganskye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganskye/gifts).



> Barbossa took the new, attractive, and hideously expensive paper he used as part of his shares of a prize. While certainly finding gold, silver, and jewelry most alluring (pirate!), he also values other accoutrements of a refined life such as books, writing paper, gold- and silver-nibbed quills, handsome inkwells, and sealing wax.

-oOo-

Throughout their years together, Barbossa sends quite a few letters to the innkeeper from various places; places she can only imagine, having never once left her little island. He writes more than she gets, the logistics of relaying mail across oceans being very complicated, and not every missive arrives at its destination. Some of them simply go astray, are tucked into a cabin drawer and forgotten; others meet a watery fate or burn when the ships they're on are fired upon and sink. 

But of those letters she receives, Sophie keeps them carefully tucked into her journal, between the pages marking the date upon which they arrive. Periodically, she takes them out and rereads them, trying to see Barbossa at his cabin table, quill in hand, trying to keep the inkwell from spilling with the motion of the ship as he considers what he wishes to say.

The letter that has come this morning is most unusual: it's written on fine, clean, new paper fit for royalty instead of the usual pages carefully cut from one of Barbossa's logbooks; ones which he scrapes as clean as possible, but which nevertheless always bear the marks of his shipboard calculations and the ghosts of mold spots. His azure wax seal is familiar to Sophie; the waxed cloth and twine in which he always binds his letters for safety, likewise. "Hector," she whispers, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Hector."

More than most, this particular brief letter tells of his loneliness for her, and his desire to be sheltered and comforted and loved — even though he doesn't say that last — which is why she's driven to read it over and over, trying to hear his voice in the written words. "My sweet Dove," she reads aloud.

If she tries to say any more, she'll break down sobbing.

_My sweet Dove,_ Barbossa's quill has scratched upon the smooth white sheet.

_The farther I get from you, the more my thoughts turn to coming home. We have had a number of profitable actions, aye, and my holds burst with everything that will make us wealthy men, but I find, when I lie awake at night, that it can hardly give me the warmth and comfort I may find in a small inn looking out over the sea. Coin does not taste of your expertly-prepared food, jewels are not soft and welcoming as I hold them, and I find, when I look at silken gowns, that my one thought is of how you may look when laced within them. Strange thoughts for a man such as myself, and perhaps they suggest that I am in need of a longer than usual span ashore._

_Alas, my Dove, were I a mere member of the crew, it might be possible, but I am not; I am a captain, my business is to lead my men to riches, and so I must stay at sea. Even so, in the darkness of night, I am entitled to dream…_

Sophie sniffles and rubs a tear from her cheek, wishing she could tell Barbossa how her own nights are consumed by dreams of him and prayers that he should return to her soon; that the longing for him twists her heart to bleeding.

_… and the thoughts in my head would set you to blushing; even you, my delightfully wicked girl._

_But although I so often come into the house bellowing that lust is gnawing at me and get yourself into our bed right soon, truly, my dear Sophia, that is not all I have ever desired from you. We had a storm yesterday, which afforded the chance for a freshwater wash, but it was a cold one, unlike the warm baths at your hand which I so enjoy. We took provisions from a ship not more than a day out upon her homeward voyage, but although the bread was fresh and crusty, and the butter still sweet, it was not offered by your hands, nor was the meat spiced and prepared to your exacting standards. My cabin is chill, my berth a lonely one, and I long to rest my head upon your bosom; to hear you whispering in my ear or humming gentle songs into the darkness, for your voice gives me more comfort than you know after months of hearing naught but the sound of rough men._

_I hope I shall be coming home to you soon, for I have large amounts of goods to sell and my men are ready for some time in port. So put on your prettiest frock (I'll leave it to you to decide which one), let your hair down from its cap, have supper waiting on the table, and afterwards, let us retire to the warmth of our bed, there to enjoy all the closeness and pleasures of which we have been deprived for so long._

_Affectionately yours,_

_Hector B._

Refolding the paper, Sophie closes her eyes and smiles to herself, imagining doing all that Barbossa has asked of her; her heart glad to follow his instructions which, after all, are everything that she herself desires for their next meeting. 

-oOo- FIN -oOo- 


End file.
